I’ve notched so many days on my cell wall
that there’s more light than wall left.
I’ve plotted the escape for months now,
dug tunnels, snipped trip wires,
imagined my route through your field
of land mines and traps to some neutral country.
Not even the gleaming razors of your eyes
can flay me to the bone now.
The hole in the fence you’ve not noticed
stares at me through my window.
I’m slipping out.
The dogs are barking.
It’s no use taking aim with your high-powered rifle.
Because I am nothing to you,
your bullets pass right through me.
Kip Knott | Elemental
Contents | Mudlark No. 50 (2013)